


A Small Man

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape ponders his legacy during a poorly-attended funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Man

Quirrell's shoulders shot up to his ears as Snape slammed the door shut. At another time, Snape would have found it amusing. As it were, it was an annoyance. His leg still throbbed where the three-headed mutt had bitten him, and he had even less patience for evasion and other shenanigans than usual.  
  
"So, was that your idea of a joke?" It only took him three strides to cross the room to where Quirrell was quivering by his desk. "A little Hallowe'en sideshow, perhaps?"  
  
"I-I don't know what you m-m—"  
  
Snape sneered. "Spare me. I know it was you who let in that troll. I know you've been sneaking around the corridor, trying to weasel your way in past the guard dog." He glowered. "If I hadn't known before, I most definitely would have after last night's incident."  
  
Quirrell looked stricken, his face ashen. After a long pause, he stammered: "Y-you have no proof..."  
  
Proof. Snape swore under his breath. No, he had tangible proof, that was true enough. The man was guilty as sin, every instinct told him as much, but as long as Dumbledore was content to sit and wait and have Snape keep watch on Quirrell instead, there was only so much he could do. Beyond dosing in Quirrell's tea with Veritaserum, he only had one other guaranteed method at his disposal, and neither option would hold in court.  
  
He grabbed Quirrell by the collar of his robe and watched the DADA professor's eyes constrict in fear as he bodily forced him out of his chair.   
  
"I know that," he hissed, secretly relishing the opportunity to vent out his pent-up frustrations. "But it's only a matter of time. You will slip up. And when you do..."  
  
"Severus, please..." Quirrell quivered like a leaf.  
  
Snape ignored his pleas, and instead looked through him. Legilimency would not count as useful proof either, and under other circumstances, without Dumbledore's protection, would have likely landed him in trouble. Still, for his own peace of mind, he has to know.  
  
Quirrell stilled as Snape's eyes penetrated through his mind.  
  
Or tried to, anyway.  
  
With what felt like almost sickening ease, his attempt at infiltrating Quirrell's memories was blocked and thwarted. Snape grimaced, just avoiding the backlash, then gave Quirrell an ugly look.  
  
 _Since when has this snivelling coward known Occlumency?_  
  
Quirrell was looking back at him with wild eyes. Was he still going to feign he was innocent, even after anticipating Snape's plan and forcefully blocking it?   
  
As it was, all he had managed to discern from Quirrell's mind before being cast out was his foremost emotion: fear. Unadulterated fear. But that alone worthless; whether he had something to hide, or under some bizarre circumstances really was the soft, terrified creature he appeared to be, fear would naturally be on his mind.  
  
Snape growled and let go. Quirrell slunk back into his chair, holding his chest.  
  
"We will continue this discussion later," Snape snapped as his parting shot, then limped away.  
  


* * *

  
It was a small grave for a small man.  
  
Rumours had abounded in Hogwarts, ranging from alarmingly accurate to fanciful stories where the Potter brat had ridden a manticore through the forbidden corridor to discover a goblin uprising. Eventually, the students had come to a consensus about what had happened on the fateful day, and the stories had died out, although some of the more impressionable first-years still jumped around corners half expecting to catch a goblin revolutionary in the act.  
  
The members of the staff had no need for such rumours. They knew what had been eventually retrieved from the third-floor corridor. They had witnessed the frightful burns, and the far more distressing wounds on the back of the corpse's skull. They all had listened to Dumbledore's explanation, which, while far the whole truth, gave them a decent idea about what their former colleague had done.  
  
Perhaps that was why there were so few witnesses to the burial. Apart from Dumbledore and the tiny wizard conducting the ceremony whose name Snape hadn't bothered to learn, the only attendants were Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress as she was, and Professor Flitwick, no doubt obliged as Quirrell's former Head of House. That, and Professor Binns, for some unfathomable reason, had also emerged outside for the first time in a decade, hovering in place looking uncertain as to why he was there or even where he was. That was all; Quirrell had no friends, and what family he had or didn't have had chosen to abandon him after learning the tale.  
  
Despite the sweltering air, Snape pulled his robes closer to his body.   
  
The tiny wizard coughed, then began his speech. "This young wizard..."  
  
 _Young idiot_ , Snape thought bitterly.  
  
How could Quirrell have been such a fool? After all that had happened during the Wizarding War, even after witnessing the aftermath of the war, the _imbecile_ had thought serving the Dark Arts was a bright idea and had gone and given himself to the Dark Lord on a silver platter?   
  
Snape glared venom at the grave. _Anyone could have told him this would be his fate. Anyone. There is no excuse._  
  
He glanced at the other witnesses. McGonagall and Flitwick looked equally impassive, Binns half asleep. The tiny wizard seemed to have no other thoughts in his head but the words he spoke. And Dumbledore...  
  
Snape's gaze lingered on Dumbledore. The Headmaster's mouth was a thin line, and there was none of the usual twinkle in his eye. Snape had expected a mask like those of the other professors, but the foremost emotion on Dumbledore's countenance startled him.  
  
Pity.  
  
Snape bristled. Had Dumbledore gone soft in the head? Next thing Snape knew he'd be showing sympathy to the Dark Lord.  
  
Then, he recalled the first words Dumbledore had said to him after staff but for him and McGonagall had dispersed.  
  
 _"Of course, we will never know the truth of the matter."_  
  
Snape looked down at the grave again. How willingly had Quirrell served the Dark Lord? If anyone could hazard a guess, it was Snape, but for all he had interacted with Quirrell he was at a loss. The dark magic involved in the possession was so arcane it would be a monumental task to find anyone even remotely familiar with it, and no-one but Quirrell and the Dark Lord himself could have told what had really transpired.   
  
Snape shook his head, irritated. Either way, Quirrell had walked knowingly into the serpent's lair. Did it really matter whether he had been bitten willingly or not?  
  
Dumbledore's eyes said it did.  
  
Regardless, Snape discarded the thought from his mind. Puzzling endlessly over an unsolvable mystery of guilt and innocence was a sure way to land a spot in the locked ward of St. Mungo's.   
  
Ignoring questions, only facts remained. Quirrell was dead. He had been possessed by the Dark Lord. And for that, he would be promptly forgotten, forever ignored as another pathetic servant to the Dark Arts. Such was life.  
  
Really, what most disturbed Snape was that this incident bothered him as much as it did. Initial shock was one thing, but lingering on it, after all he had seen during the war, was not like him. It wasn't out of any lost love for Quirrell, that was sure enough.  
  
The realisation dawned slowly, an increasing pressure rather than a sudden strike, a shadow slowly creeping upon him.  
  
 _It could easily be me in that grave._  
  
He too had been a fool once. If the Dark Lord had never gone after the Potters, who knows if he had ever come to his senses?  
  
Snape gritted his teeth.  
  
 _That can still be me._  
  
He had no doubts what Dumbledore would ask of him if the Dark Lord were to rise again, any more of how bad it might make him look. Having to protect Potter was nothing in comparison. If the worst were to come, he might well die looking like nothing more than a Death Eater and a despicable coward to boot.   
  
He didn't want anyone to know the truth about himself, nor could he afford it while he lived and even the slightest risk of the Dark Lord rising still remained, but the thought he might be forever despised and soon forgotten after he died, after all he had done, chilled him regardless.  
  
Perhaps he was going soft, but nevertheless he gave the grave a less severe glance.  
  
 _I hope you regretted it._ It wasn't a nice wish; no doubt Quirrell's last year of life had been far more miserable if he had been an unwilling pawn. He wished so regardless. _I hope you fought back. I hope you were a naïve idiot rather than a greedy one._  
  
Dumbledore blinked, a faint smile appearing on his face. Snape felt a fool. Hadn't he known from the beginning it made no difference to how Quirrell would be remembered, whether he had truly been in league with the Dark Lord or not? The entire thought exercise was a waste of time.   
  
Still, as the tiny wizard waved his wand to fill in the grave, Snape felt the briefest flicker of melancholy.


End file.
